On White Wings
by N.W.Wolfride
Summary: A beautiful retelling of events directed from roleplay through World of Warcraft. This is a unique fic with a deep plot following the expereinces of a clumsy and contrary Tauren girl. Laugh, cry, laugh more and review of course! Rating subject to change!
1. Solemn Orgins

**On White Wings **

**Chapter One: Solemn Orgin**

In an place uncharted, though not significant enough to be brought about in lore, an unnamed location well hidden within a sinking of the endless golden plains, (somewhere in Mulgore if any given direction is significant enough to be brought about at all in such a vast and unchanging place) there was, tucked well in, a small unnamed village. This village was different and quite special. Now villages were not uncommon, but established 'tribes,' so to speak, were. Even the free and mighty Tauren cannot escape from the influence of conformity. Conformity yes, that will never be able to be helped (it cant help itself..), but the Tauren heart remains strong as it has always been, and the Tauren beleives untampered and unwavering. However, influence by forces we shall leave unnamed, for we all know who they are, have driven the nomad nature of a Tauren tribe to a halt. Tauren are meant to roam, not be settled. Regaurdless, Tauren now have a few, bigger villages to be stopped in, and a large capital. Most still wander, for there is nothing that can tame a young restless heart, but the old cannot endure any longer. Forces must be kept to keep the land, and the cities, contained. Outer influence is always a problem, therefore, only the traditions and teachings of a wise Tauren remain. The tribes have vanished into the dust of Thousand Needles.

To each and every thing there is always the exception. Many small tribes still scatter their kodo hide huts on the outskirts and most barren places of the plains. Some of the tribe's leaders have not spoken to other great elders of the plain since before 'the influence.' Once every so often, marked by the ending of the migration of kodo that occasionally happened in serious drought and hard times, the elders would hold a private speaking with their chief. Visions seen, deep memories, and ancient callings would be shared among the better. The chief would then gather young bulls, no adult advisors, to trek the deadly heat of the plains at his side. "Each and every Tauren should learn their place and their strength. Young springs shall be taught to work with one another as the Earth Mother intended." The inexperienced young'ns then had to make the long haul back, as a group, on their own. The chief would return on his own as well. If the chief made it back, his word were good. If he didn't, then it were for the better.

At this particular said village, a meeting of its own was in progression. Mainly consisting of the lead hunters, for there were no war leaders in such a peaceful place, and the two other chiefs with their own best stock and wise men, they all spoke in low utterings among themselves. A few times a year at a time that felt right, a kind of a meeting was held to make decisions that applied to all forgotten tribes within the unsaid area. The wisest and most experienced chief, elected to speak, voiced his honest thoughts, then regulated the conflict among the minority with honest and fair judged tongue.

The more bold and impatient stock began to hiss, fidgeting out of their cross legged position upon their woven tribal marked mat, while one, a simple white with two crossing gray stripes, left itself as bare as the dried plains, having been this way for quite some time, the mat had been there since early that morning, empty as it lay yet still untouched in the refreashing grace of dew. As the blaring sun began to arch high, more and more mats, though less empty and more colorful versions, began to arrive to form a circle with the lone white mat completing it.

One Tauren had not moved. He were first there, coming alone, and sitting cross legged and cross armed upon a mat composed of dark fur from a distant land. Jerking his head, a broken horn was thrust outwards. His snort of steamed air pushed the heavy metal ring bore on his nose upwards slightly at the exhale's fierce intensity. The bull's black, gritty, tuff at the end of his tail twitched, though that were the only real sign of his impatience. The rest of his bulk were masked in fur the color of further darkened soot. His solid colored orbs, an unfeeling yellow. As pushy and intimidating as this man was, he knew much of nature and lived within it. He were the only to bare a staff rather then a fine, and finely sharpened, blade. A brand hindered his shoulder with an odd marking; a closed circle within a circle, crested under with a thin half moon. The massive Tauren's teeth grit closed with an awful clack, matching that of the crackling brush of another approaching up over the hill from the hosting village.

This recently, progressively more common noise shot from a hoof beat and moved across the ground with the thick intensity of wildfire. Reminiscing conversations, agitated, wait stressed words, and uncomfortable fidgeting lulled to silence. The much anticipated and fair judging leader stood rigid on his mat, stationed on the peak of hard shadow cast by the broiling sun directly overhead of the great hunter. All eyes were on him as hard as the beating sun. If only the stunned silence could tell the story..

The standing Tauren was a ghost against the plains. His downy coat and cropped, wispy mane were the pure color of bright clouds on a clear day. Pale horns extended straight out from his bowed head, closed sky colored eyes looking through the ground. The very tip of the white tuff at the end of his tail brushed the golden grass between two marble hooves. The outer layers of them seemed to be translucent, the sheen gemlike with swirls of light touched gray deep withen the bulk, giving a cloudy appearance.

The Tauren meeting members couldn't believe what they were seeing! Not because of his color, everyone well knew this great hunter, but he were known for none of the things he were currently displaying. It were custom for hunters with great skill to wear shining metal in place of leather. This leader choose not to. Instead, he consisted his wardrobe of only leather, usually from beasts that came from distant lands he had once been to. At this incredible moment, his form was cloaked with tattered, torn linen from some untold battle, in place of his proud and rare hunter's leather. And typically at these meetings, no one was quite sure when the white bull had made his appearance. His movements over the plain made no sound nor echo. He moved with such silent grace that the world moved around him and he moved within it, passing into it rather then through it. But now.. Was this the right Tauren..?

Without anyone realizing , the leader had already set himself into a well practiced position upon the pale mat and raised his hallow eyes with a sigh wisping past the ring embed into his nose. As soon as the silent agreement to begin had been put into place, the wise Tauren spoke. There were no questions or controversy. The younger warriors were known to fight a useless point to make themselves known among the highers rather then to speak for their people, but even they knew better of it then to be the first and only to speak out. The white leader spoke soft and in a voice that carried out like far off thunder. With such dexterity in words and lonely experience, the leader spoke of unthought of solutions. He revealed hidden rivers to counter the effects of drought within the village, told of old kodo sleeping grounds hidden away in low plain areas, and put new rules and routes to be followed into effect. All of this was spoken slow and crisp, without hesitation or interruption.

When all members had left across the horizon, only the bulky dark and sleek pale Tauren remained, still fixed in place upon their mats and almost side by side. Old Indigo raised his massive head, the broken horn coming up first as though he could only perceive his surroundings if that side of his head were lifted. For a moment, the hunter wandered if the druid had heard his words at all, though something inside said he did, and the information did not apply to Indigo's equal knowledge of the subject. Soon, both bulls rose. Blue and yellow caught each other in an unblinking twine, soon parted as the edge of the sun collided into the smooth edge of the far off mountain range. The dark Tauren was gone as shadow began to overtake the land. The pale leader took his own way, moving silently up the hill toward village. He stopped sharp at the top. In fact, it were a wander he did not topple backwards at the point he chose to halt. A sharp, shrill cry was sung as soon as twilight sunk in. The bull faced back toward the open, endless plains without even a soft subtle sigh. He didn't know quite when, but a very, very old Tauren elder with a long braided had took her presence by his side soon enough. She shook just standing, an effect of age that caused the plainstrider feathers embroidered into the earth toned gown to tremble. She had experience far beyond words, and her blind, closed eyes saw many things. Surely she did all she could have ever done? At the presence of the familiar woman, the hunter's shoulders dropped slightly, but part of his soul seemed to slip away in the process.

The old woman remained silent, knowing words would add more weight to the plenty heavy force pushing down on the man. Her shaky arms quickly grew weak with the small weight of the bundle she held, and with this spurred the new father into reaching out, finally taking what was his. His little girl.. His little girl with fur so pure of black that it competed well with the darkening sky. A girl with his bright, unique white located only at pointed bands across her snout. His little girl..that was born motherless into condemned shadow...

**Line Notes**

These are included for those of you who read too quickly, or if I did not make the writing clear enough with my lack of experience. I just want the stuff read between the lines to be known. A recap of the story if you will. You do not have to read them.

-The village this chapter takes place in is special because it is one of the few actual Tauren tribes left, rather then a settled spot. The Tauren migrate to hunt, but this village is a home base and meeting place. Therefore, older traditions are still followed and the people here are not used to the concept of cities where many people dwell and just travel through.

-The white hunter is so much different today because his only child is being born and he knows that either the child or the mother is going to die. He also has conflict with the black druid. (To be more accurate, the black druid is just a hair away from being the leader. That's a thought for all ya'll to chew on.)

-In a tribe like this, a leader would be expected to have at least one son. His only child turns out to be female, and pitch black at that! She is so much unlike her impressive, noble and respected father.

That about covers the little tidbits. I tried to make them pretty catchable. The rest can only be described with feeling, and if read, will be there. There is no need for me to go into those parts.

**Author's Notes**

This is my first fic. All content is based upon the game World of Warcraft and my experiences in roleplay. The content may or not be exactly as the original, and the names given will be based solely upon roleplay, not actual character names. (Though the obvious ones may be found in game if you play. All permission has been obtained from those who actually DO have the names given to go ahead and distribute that, but it was never my intentions to do. Names are soley for story sake.) Chapters WILL be upadted on a regular basis, and I WILL respond and keep in touch with my reviewers! D I would absolutely love to hear what you guys have to say. All comentary accepted, including flames. There will be detail revisions made as I feel a need. It wont change the story line, but it will make the reading easier/better and of a higher quality.

It starts out pretty serious and almost a little depressing, but things start to get more comical later on. How could things not with such a hard-headed Tauren who prances to the beat of a seporate war drum? You'll see. Read, think, and review!


	2. Honor's Calling

**On White Wings**

**Chapter Two: Honor's Calling **

Arid, dry rays of heat struck down on choppy bunches of pointed flat leaves waving in uniform motion to the summer song of afternoon cicadas. The light seamed to glance its harsh blow off the greenery and slip through the passages between the whipping leaves, falling like droplets of fast moving water- only to strike the ground immediately with dancing splatters of scattered light. Some of the sharp brightness clashed off of a small cloven hoof, the leg it were bound draped over its equal partner. The small Tauren's dark hoof bobbed in time to its own beat, intercepting the fall of light on each return upstroke.

I happily hummed and chanted the wise phrases of the ancient sayings; phrases of cooking, healing, and rules of herb leaf patterns. These things I were fortunate enough to know, taught to me by spending countless hours at the side of an elder woman who tended me by day as she did her daily tasks. There were no witchery or magic, just rhymes to remember different warnings or fortunes. My own interpretation was correct, but my ability to clarify the words, however, were a bit lacking. "(L)Eaves a' (b)lue make (y)ou nu(new), buh eaves a' (f)ive get ou hyves!"

With a melodic giggle and the energy of a young gazelle, I finally bounded up from my cool bed of grass to stand, eagerly turning to study where I had lain just to see how much grass I had pressed flat. I noticed a dark browning patch forming in the center where I had always lay. After blinking once, I allowed my form to fall forward, taking the small weight on my hands as my nose was pressed into the soil that now stood out in the middle of a darkening patch. For some reason, to this day even, I have not figured out why this small patch, absent of the beautiful grasses I were so accustomed to, upset me so. A rare intensity flooded over the childish expression I held and dried solid in the air that had suddenly gone hot around me.

Children tend to be very curious and observant creatures, and also tend to take in every little detail about them. This does not stand to say, however, that they always understand everything they take in. Though, if left in the same environment for many a time, an understanding of what change going on around them takes place. Or at least, the change is noticed by the child. In that moment all I understood was that I had a comfortable, pretty spot all my own that I had grown attached to, and something came along and ruined it! My crimson earth toned eyes welled up, a thought coming to mind with each tear that fell as I began to make sense as to why my little spot was destroyed. _Grass is flat.. The more flat, it die? I kill it?_

The process of understanding the abuse of nature was cut short by what sounded as though a coyote had wandered too far into the village. Moving quickly and whirling around with my back pressed flush into the thin, flat bark of the tree I spent so much time under, my attentions fixed onto the source of the sound. My form relaxed though, shoulders slumping slack as I saw it were only some of the village kid's playing after work. Work. Tasks done for the tribe for the sake of the tribe's well being, and to maintain honor with your people. Something I should have been doing...

Honor is such a small and simple word. A word small enough that even a dense and innocent Tauren child could understand well beyond her years. But this little word meant so much; it determined where you slept. On various occasions, if a younger Tauren were proving to be a handful or not minding the ways, they would be sent to sleep outside or in a spare, cold and unfurnished hut until they learned the teaching or done something to prove themselves. It were to teach one not to disgrace honor, or one would be nothing more then the cold cobble stones that support a rugged, skin shack, and a shack in which only receives company on the grounds of punishment to another.

Besides all the given, such as how people saw and acted toward someone, the work that one were expected to do was in direct decent of one's forefather. This, to me, was actually one of the few scraps of salvation from the wandering eyes that looked me down. The work of my father, that I were able to do, was some of which children were lucky to even be allowed to watch. The work was quite sacred, and required much respect from the tribe to preform. When my father fetched me to go to the mountain, it were one of the few times I could walk proud and hold my head high. We would walk side by side, him leading his kodo mount through the village. An animal we had hunted, typically a good quality beast of its kind, were fastened to the back of the kodo and taken to the top of the mountain. Here, the hide would be taken from the beast, salted with a mineral found only at the top of the sacred peak, and the rest of the contents salted as well, though thrown over. The meat was tossed, the hide burned, and the bones, now said to be three times as strong, brought back to be used as supports for new gathering huts. The village and several others could see the smoke of the burning hide, and only a portion of bone was brought back. Most was left for other tribes to use, signaled by the smoke. I was allowed to help him the whole time. Sometimes, though, I would scare a more sensitive beast into running before we had a chance to trap or take it. A keen arrow usually did the job quickly. No poisons were to be used in taking a sacred animal in good health to sacrafice.

Most of all, honor was a sure sign of how much was expected from you. If the leader has a son, that son should become a great hunter, and hopefully, take over. But what if the leader has an only daughter? Then the daughter shall become a chaste, great healer and wise woman, or be sent, in time, to marry to another tribe's higher. Great things were expected of great bloodlines. My father is the grace of the plains, a ghost against purple mountain ranges and a traveler of many lands. He is the greatest hunter within our tribe, and a wise leader to many. I am his tag-a-long daughter who loves to jump into puddles, wrestle with town dogs, chase after plainstriders, and can never bring a water pitcher back with more then half of its contents in tact because I saw a wilting flower or thirsty animal. (Usually I just trip out of pure lack of grace and clumsiness. Willingly returning short handed is an improvement.)

Work. Something I avoided. It were not that I didn't understand why work must be completed, or that I had intentions to not care about the general well-fairing of the tribe. The simple blunt truth of it all was I just wasn't good at doing things. Everything were done wrong, or I'd break the tools needed to do basic things like digging up a potato, (I got the digger thingy stuck into a log.) bringing back crates, (I keep breaking them.) or grinding meal. (I knocked over a torch into the dried wheat while digging for my favorite shiny rock of many I dropped into the bundles.. Found the rock though!) So most of my days were spent assisting the old wise woman and gathering things for her arts, unless my father came for me, which was unpredictable.

My musings were cut into by a sharp trill from above that sliced through the wind, the impact of the noise pushing me down into the grass to escape attack like a hiding hare. My body pressed tightly down, my eyes alone moving to see the horrible beast that was to bestow my doom. The terrible creature had jumped back at my giggling, hiding behind a veil of leaves that flapped like the half molted bird's wings. With another sharp trill, the beast, a small bird swooped back down to sit above me. Though as he had wearily eyed me, he paid no attention to where he were landing. Part of his long hard work slipped from the ties of kodo hair, binding the unfinished nest to the limbs of the tree and hit me right square between the eyes. Blinking and rubbing my forehead with a whimper, I picked up the nest to inspect it some. Grass! He were using grass to build it.

This gave me an idea! Dropping down on my knees, I began to take several handfuls of grass into my hands, which I began to use in order to fill the spot I had lain, making a nest of my own to save the grass that was beginning to die from my continuous use of it. By the time I had filled the whole spot, making all balanced and even, dusk was settling down upon the village. Stars that were brighter than those on a new moon, and a large, low plains moon soon followed in the shadow of the settling dusk, illuminating the flat grassland. The shadows of a pack of coyotes moved across the surface of the ground, but I felt safe in my nest of grass..though it felt odd...

My eyes drifted, hazed by the lull of the drowsyness, over the slowing leaves above. A lithe shape caught my eye, but I missed the glitter of a deadly fang as the energy left and deep sleep took me over. The discovery of a horrible beast above, a real one, faded into nothing more then a confused dream of a small bird.

A/N: It has been a while since I have continued to write this. I need to go back and fix chapter one. Wow do I write deep. o.o Basically, this chapter is filling in some info for later. I'm going to start posting 'summary guides' at the end of my chapters to clarify what is going on if you missed it. XD

Chapter one summary/review:

-The white Tauren is a general leader, well respected. He is a hunter.

-The black Tauren, Old Indigo, is one of the few that is a druid. He is quite, but the hunter is aware that Indigo knows just as much as himself.

-The druid believes he should have the hunter's position, but the others wont listen to him because he is different in his ways.

-Through the chapter, the white hunter is acting oddly because he knows his wife is in labor with his first child. He also knows she will die.

-His only child, the one that shall take his place, turns out to be a black female.

Chapter two summary/review:

-The little black tauren girl, the white hunter leader's daughter, is off by herself instead of doing work, which is a highly disshonorable thing.

-When alone, she spends a lot of time playing in nature and trying to figure out how it all balances. Though proud of her father's teaching, she learns more from the village elders who teach her about use of the land and herbs.

-At the end of the chapter, a non-fake beast awaits in the trees.

See a trend? XD Hunter vs. Druid!

I believe the chapters will become more interesting later. I also believe this whole story will move at a slow pace and be very deep. For some of you, this is ideal. For others, not so much. Drama, comedy, blood, and romance should come soon enough. ^ ^ By slow, I don't mean uneventful. Just that the reader will have plenty of time to dwell within the mood of whatever is going on. The story should remain very 'rich' to the reader, but the reader must like what is being potrayed to not get bored with the reading. Moods should shift very slowly, and be a decent variety. Warning: Blood, maybe torture scenes, and maybe even lemon will show up. o.o; Rating will change according.


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